


Get On; I've Got You

by Amuly



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Carrying, Drunkenness, Husbands, M/M, Married Couple, Multilingual Character, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt carries Hermann home after a date night. Based on <a href="http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/post/59667741461/raise-your-hand-if-you-love-the-fics-where-newton"> this adorable and amazing art</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get On; I've Got You

“Come on, big guy. Can you stand?”

The glare Hermann leveled at Newt told him quite clearly that he shouldn't have asked. The way Hermann stumbled and collapsed into the table when trying to push himself up _also_ told Newt that the answer was a resounding “no.”

Heaving a sigh, Newt threw his money down on the table and stuck his empty beer mug on top of it. With as little contact as he could manage—which of course turned out to be a pointless endeavor because pretty much his _whole body_ was necessary—Newt hauled Hermann to his wobbly feet. Hermann was grunting and growling the whole time, _insisting_ that he could get his own legs under him. Newt ignored his mostly unintelligible slurring and replied in German “ _Sure you can, man_.”

Hermann slurred something back at Newt in German—though it sounded more Polish than German, making it entirely pointless to try and decipher—but kept his weight slung against Newt and let himself be led from the bar. The bartender spared a glance for the two of them, but Newt just shook his head and gave him a reassuring thumbs up. He could handle Hermann. Even drunk-and-cane-less Hermann.

Newt wanted to mumble “why did you forget your cane tonight?” but he was afraid Hermann would be able to hear, even inebriated as he was. And he knew the answer, anyway. It was because Hermann was feeling good today; it was because Hermann had more bad days than good recently; it was because this was one of maybe five date nights they let themselves have a year and Hermann didn't want to “ruin” it by having a constant reminder of his illness with him. It was also maybe because a cane wouldn't have done Hermann any good at this level of inebriation, except perhaps to stab Newt's toes with as he drunkly tried to find the ground with it.

When they were maybe a block from the bar, Hermann stumbled one too many times and it was all Newt could do to shove him against a dirty wall in a last-ditched attempt to keep him from falling to the ground. Hermann grumbled and moaned, slurring something that sounded like “ _ficken_ ” but then again couldn't be because there was no way, no matter how drunk he was, that Hermann was proposing Newt fuck him in some dirty alley (which they weren't even _in_ , just _next to_. They were still on the main street, for fuck's sake).

“Alright, that's it,” Newt panted. He was seriously not in good enough shape for this.

Blindly Hermann lashed out in some sort of attempt to hit Newt on the arm, then grab at him. Newt batted his hand away.

“Come on, there's only one way I can do this and guarantee we'll both get home tonight.”

Telegraphing his every move, Newt squatted down in front of Hermann and grabbed at his hands and thighs, tugging him in. “Come on,” Newt coaxed. “Hop on.”

Hermann stared stupidly down at him, body roughly eighty percent supported by the wall at his back. “Ch'è?”

Newt groaned. Hermann had a tendency to mix up his many languages when drunk, but come _on_. “You have got to be fucking with me at this point.”

Hermann was not fucking with him. Blearily he batted at Newt's shoulders. “Geddup.”

“Okay, just...” Newt nudged gingerly at Hermann from his position on the ground, trying not to send him sprawling. “Kinda... fall forward...” Newt pointedly ignored the passers-by who were giving them odd looks.

Miraculously, after just a few moments of gently trying to tug at Hermann's body until he got the hint, Hermann actually _did_ , and collapsed against Newt's back like a particularly affectionate octopus. Newt grunted and shifted his limbs around until they were somewhere in the vicinity of the right places, then looked over his shoulder at Hermann.

Hermann leaned forward and licked a sloppy kiss against his nose.

Newt had a really very lot of awesome self control, because he didn't either a.) laugh himself silly, or b.) drop Hermann's drunk ass there and collect him in the morning (like he would ever do that). “Okay. Thank you, uh. For that. Hermann. Continuing that when we get home, alright?” _Like Hermann would be sober enough for that._ “But first we have to get there. I need you to hold on tight for me, buddy. Can you do that?”

Praise be to evolution, because somehow _that_ managed to get past the four pints and two shots and into Hermann's skull, and Hermann's arms and legs tightened around Newt's neck and waist, respectively. Newt worked to get his legs under him.

“Okay buddy. I'm standing up.” Newt grabbed tightly onto Hermann's legs, worried with the combination of the MS and the alcohol, Hermann might not be able to keep his grip there as tight as he needed to. His arms would probably be fine—so long as Hermann remembered to keep them there, and didn't go gesturing with them or pointing at something.

It was hard to be careful standing up when it was just plain _hard_ to stand up. Newt wasn't the biggest guy in the world, and even though Hermann was stupidly underfed (as much as Newt tried to correct that), Hermann still had five inches on him and was roughly fifty percent dead weight at the moment. Still, Newt managed to get upright with minimal difficulty, and with Hermann still clinging tightly to his back, no less! Alright! The evening was looking up! Now just to navigate the five or six blocks back to their Shatterdome apartment.

“Newton?”

“Yeah babe?” Newt grunted. Hermann almost managed to sound coherent! Not bad. Newt shifted his grip as he crossed a street.

“Why... Oh. Dizzying.”

“Hermann, babe, I love you, but I swear to God I will drop you like Kaiju Blue if you vomit on me,” Newt warned him. He wouldn't, actually. In fact, he was pretty much resigned to Hermann vomiting on him at some point this evening. He just hoped he could get Hermann to the privacy of their bathroom before it happened. And this was his fancy dress shirt he only wore on their date nights. He didn't want Hermann to ruin it—it was _Hermann's_ favorite, after all.

“Oh.” After a moment, Hermann's weight shifted forward slightly, and his face pressed against Newt's cheek. “Okay,” he mumbled. Newt felt his mouth form the word, his hoppy-scented breath warm against his cheek. Newt nuzzled against him as he continued his forward trudge.

“Just a few more blocks, buddy,” Newt promised him. “Then I'll get you a gallon of water and some Advil.”

“Doesn't work,” Hermann mumbled. “Studies...” he switched to German, “ _Before bed, doesn't stop_ -” and back to English, “-hangover.”

“Hey, come on now: Who's the biologist here?” Newt prompted. He had to stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the sign to switch over. He used the break to shift Hermann's weight up, bouncing him on his back as gently as he could. Hermann groaned and pressed his cheek tighter against Newt's. He kinda wished he had a spare hand to pet Hermann with, right now. Reassure him that he'd take care of everything. As it was, all he had was his words. Which, hey, those were pretty useful, too.

The light changed and Newt continued across the street, stepping carefully to avoid jostling Hermann too much. “Hey now, you trust me, right?”

“ _Ja_.”

“Alright then, listen up: I'm gonna get you home real soon, and give you water and medicine, and the medicine will _totally help_. You'll feel so much better, I promise. We'll be home real soon.”

The cool October breeze picked up for a moment, soothing on Newt's face as he turned down the last couple blocks. There were less people here to shoot them sideways glances, with the Shatterdome looming large in the distance. Most these buildings were shops that either directly served the Shatterdome, or off-site apartments for some of the higher-ups.

“ _Ich liebe dich_.”

Newt's heart clenched. Geeze. He knew Hermann felt that way. He just... he said it so _rarely_... which was okay! That was Hermann, Newt knew that going in. But. Aw, dang. Like. Wow.

“I love you too, man,” Newt promised him.

Ten minutes later and Hermann had puked all over Newt's shoes the second they got into the bathroom. Newt sat next to him (shoes off and tossed into the bathtub), and handed him water and Advil in between bouts of heaving. As Hermann flushed the toilet and sat with his forehead against the rim of the bowl, groaning pitifully, Newt just rubbed his back and smiled besottedly at his stupid adorable husband. And thought maybe on their next date night they'd go to a show or something, instead of the Oktoberfest at the local German pub. 


End file.
